


Without Redemption

by ceywoozle



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Double Penetration, Enemas, Felching, M/M, Multi, Object Penetration, PWP, Toys, Unrealistic Sex, face fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-20 23:37:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2447270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceywoozle/pseuds/ceywoozle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft finds himself oddly captivated by John. Sherlock decides he can share.</p><p>The title of this fic is meant to be an accurate representation of what it contains. There is nothing good about this fic. Seriously it is pure unredemptive porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without Redemption

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> My girlfriend required distraction this afternoon and I basically texted her this thing sentence by sentence over the course of a couple of hours between petting various cats. It is essentially unchanged from its original form, though I added in things like capital letters and paragraph breaks. But it's a mess. It's not meant to be a piece of art. It's just...filth. Such filth. Oh my God I'm so embarrassed.
> 
> You should also know, this is not meant to be an accurate representation of how sex works. It is highly unrealistic and I don't even pretend to know how double penetration works except that it involves two things in one hole at the same time. This is not meant to be realistic. It's just meant to be smutty.

There is a moment when, before he's entirely sure how it happened, Mycroft becomes oddly fixated on John. It must be all that time spent watching him. He's so _terribly_ amusing, trying _so hard_ to be _good_. These ordinary people and their odd notions of morality.

Mycroft wants to see it stripped from him. At least for a little bit. Wants to see him filthy. Depraved. Begging for mercy.

John belongs to Sherlock, but...Sherlock owes him, after all. So Mycroft goes to see him one day. Finds Sherlock alone.

Mycroft talks.

Just suggests what he has in mind in a manner that tells Sherlock that he doesn't really have a choice. And Sherlock hates it. He doesn't want anyone touching John.

Except that he knows the idea of John gagging on a cock even as he's being fucked on the other end is something he wants to see. They use the gag—that one that John likes, the one that's shaped like a penis—but it's not quite the same.

So Sherlock says _maybe._ He'll talk to John.

And later, when he does, he can tell that something in John lets off a spark at the idea. He's interested. But he also thinks of Mycroft and he's not sure. _Maybe Lestrade,_ John suggests.

But Sherlock knows that Lestrade and John are friends and he's not entirely sure what this would tip them over into. After all, Lestrade is _good,_ and he can see Lestrade and John both loving it. Wanting to do it again. Maybe one day forgetting to invite Sherlock along...

 _No,_ Sherlock says. _Not Lestrade._ _Mycroft or no one._

John purses his lips.

Thinks about it.

But in the end he agrees. Of course he agrees. But on one condition.

Sherlock looks suspicious. _What condition?_ he asks.

 _Double penetration,_ John says. He's always wanted to try it.

Sherlock texts Mycroft right away. They make an appointment. After all, they're all very busy. Mycroft in the middle of that business in North Korea and John and Sherlock just had a nine come in that morning. Besides, it's going to take days to prepare John. So they make the appointment for a week later.

The case takes five days to solve.

On the fourth day, Sherlock starts preparing John.

Sherlock starts with the small plug. Well. Small for John. No more than two a half inches in breadth.

The next day is the three inch one.

John likes that one. It's the one that vibrates and Sherlock torments him even as they're trying to solve the murder. They're almost there and every time John gets something wrong Sherlock will up the setting by a notch.

Soon John is saying things that are more and more ludicrous just to get goad Sherlock into it, and when they catch the murderer, John is panting and flushed and even as he presses the struggling body of the perpetrator into the filth of the alley floor, heady with triumph, he comes without a touch, the three inch plug vibrating in his arse.

The next day, Sherlock uses the 4 inch one. John struggles but Sherlock knows he can take it

This one doesn't vibrate, but John doesn't think he could handle that today anyway.

On the seventh day, the last day of preparation, Sherlock uses a four and a half inch plug. It's the largest one they have, and not only is it thick, but it's long too.

It takes forever to get it into John, with him yelling curses on the bed as each millimetre is slowly pushed inside of him. He can barely walk with it in, but Sherlock still makes him go out and get the milk. John does, of course. It's part of the game.

He's stiff-gaited and limping. People look at him with pity, thinking something is wrong. He takes a cab home, even though it's only a few blocks, and sitting on that enormous plug with each rut in the road making it feel like he's being fucked, he doesn't know how he's going to make it.

When he gets home, he doesn't even wait for Sherlock. He rushes to the bedroom and strips. He throws himself onto the bed and starts rutting himself into the sheets.

Sherlock stops him with a hand on his head, and pulled out of his own desperation John watches as Sherlock drags off his own clothes and when he's naked he gets on the bed with John and slides onto his stomach and with a wicked smile at John over his shoulder, Sherlock spreads his thighs and offers his own arse into the air.

John fucks him hard, out of control as he thrusts frantically into that willing arse. He comes after barely ten strokes, shouting at the intensity of it before falling forwards, draping himself over Sherlock's back. He barely notices when Sherlock slowly slips out from underneath him, arranging John neatly on his back, and with John's come dripping between his thighs, Sherlock straddles John's face and starts to fuck his mouth. He comes quickly, deep in John's willing throat.

Sherlock doesn't take the plug out till the next morning though, at eight, after John's fucked him four more times and Sherlock's come down his throat at least that many times again.

Mycroft is expected at ten and Sherlock spends the time helping John to get completely cleaned, flushing him out completely with warm water in the tub till john is moaning and writhing against the porcelain, his stomach distended, just on the other edge of too full that John always seems to need.

When they're both clean, Sherlock puts John to bed then puts his dressing gown on and goes out to the sitting room to wait for Mycroft.

Mycroft arrives at precisely ten o'clock.

Sherlock is in his chair, facing the door when it opens and his brother walks into the room.

 _I don't approve of this,_ Sherlock tells him.

 _If you prefer, you can wait out here,_ Mycroft tells him with a smirk.

Sherlock glares. John is his.

 _I know,_ Mycroft tells him. _I don't want him. Not like that, anyway. So much responsibility._

_I'd merely like to borrow him once in a while._

Sherlock's still glaring. _The second he wants to stop, we stop,_ Sherlock tells him and he's serious.

Mycroft is almost surprised but he doesn't let it show. _He won't want to stop._

Mycroft strips in the sitting room, removing his clothing one piece at a time, completely unashamed. He folds everything carefully, stacking it with precision on one corner of the coffee table. When he's completely naked he turns to Sherlock. There isn't an ounce of embarrassment in his expression. He raises an eyebrow and Sherlock notices he still holds his umbrella.

Sherlock doesn't get up right away. Watches him for a minute, regretting this but excited in spite of himself.

 _You're getting fat,_ he tells Mycroft.

Mycroft's eyebrows twitch. _It isn't necessary that you look,_ he says.

 _I'll try not to,_ Sherlock snaps.

It's Sherlock who enters the bedroom first, making it clear. Mycroft isn't even a guest. He's an interloper. He's gone once this is done. Sherlock repeats this to himself, fighting past the possessiveness he feels crowding through him when he sees John, sleeping heavily on the bed.

He is naked, sprawled out and lovely. Almost entirely worn but Sherlock knows John's limits and he hasn't quite reached it yet. He's on his stomach, his legs slightly spread, his face to the side. It's almost a shame to disturb him.

Mycroft steps forward. Stares at the man on the bed. Sherlock wonders if he needs to be jealous after all when he sees some of the calculation leave Mycroft's face, an odd softness overtaking it.

 _They're so delicate,_ Mycroft says, something like reverence in his voice. _So easily breakable._ And he raises the tip of his umbrella and smoothly places it at the crease of John's arse and pushes.

John wakes with a cry. He is barely conscious and already he is pushing backwards, an instinctive motion after all this time of being woken up by Sherlock's cock thrusting unexpectedly into his arse, fucking him awake.

There is no expression on Mycroft's face as he watches John, raised on his knees with his face pressed into the bed, the pillow muffling the curses that stream from his mouth.

Mycroft doesn't give him time to adjust, starts sliding the tip of the umbrella in and out of John's hole, fully displayed to him as John pushes his arse in the air. He is wide open and loose, fully prepared and wet with lube, raw and red at the edges, but it is always like that now.

And despite the narrowness of the umbrella tip, John is swearing and trembling, clutching at the sheets, his voice pitched high with desperation. This is a new feeling for him and Sherlock, watching with eyes slightly wide as his John is pulled apart by something only a fraction of the breadth of their usual toys, makes a mental note to start experimenting. He wonders, as he watches Mycroft fucking john with the tip of his umbrella, how many objects John could fit into his hole.

John is whining now, his hips thrusting. He is close and Sherlock regrets not putting a cock ring on earlier. It's too late for that now though, so he holds up a hand and Mycroft, with a smirk, pulls the umbrella from john's wide red hole.

They need to do this, Sherlock knows. John is nearing the end, at the last feverish height. It's only a matter of time before he collapses inwards on himself, thoroughly spent. So Sherlock strips his dressing gown off, not bothering to hang it up. It falls in a heap on the floor and he smirks at the way Mycroft looks at it as if he's just found something with too many legs in his morning coffee.

Sherlock gets on the bed. John is on his stomach, flat out and panting. When Sherlock slides next to him, John reacts instinctively, drawing close to him, slipping himself under Sherlock's waiting arm. John buries his face in Sherlock's neck and Sherlock can hardly breathe for a moment, thinking how much he loves this man, the lengths he'll go to make him happy and full. But there are limits.

Mycroft can share him for a time, but when John eventually comes it will be Sherlock's face he sees.

With gentle hands and whispered words, Sherlock guides John to his knees until he is straddling him. He doesn't wait. As soon as John is positioned Sherlock clutches at his hips and pulls him down and John gives a moan as the full length of Sherlock's cock slides into his arse until he is penetrated, unable to move.

John's hips are already thrusting and Sherlock holds him steady, tries to calm him, but John is flushed and frantic. His lips are parted and his eyes closed. He is trying so hard to fuck himself on Sherlock but Sherlock won't let him and John whines, opens his eyes and begs.

 _Shush John,_ Sherlock tells him. _You can come soon._

Mycroft is nearly forgotten, but the sudden shifting of the mattress reminds them both of what they're doing here today. Even the thought of it makes John moan, a long needy sound. There are words in it and Sherlock, the feel of his cock buried deep in the heat of John's body distracting him, is barely able to pick them out after a moment. It is a single word, over and over again. _Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes..._

And Sherlock knows he was right to let this happen.

He tells Mycroft to hurry. He knows John won't last very long.

Mycroft doesn't even look at Sherlock but it's strange to have his brother so near. They haven't touched each other in decades. Sherlock thinks of how horrified mummy and dad would be knowing that after years of not even hugging each other, the brothers would finally be letting themselves get close again. The thought makes him laugh. But it's a mistake because a moment later he is choking. Mycroft is behind John and the first touch of his long hard cock, pressed up against the base of Sherlock's feels far too good. He gives a groan, almost missing the sound of John's gasping whimper.

 _Slowly, oh my god,_ Sherlock moans.

Mycroft doesn't bother answering, just gives Sherlock a scornful look over John's shoulder. The first press of his cock on the ring of John's hole is almost unreal. John's mouth is opened wide and Sherlock suddenly regrets that he didn't get the gag out after all. He thinks of putting his fingers in it, making John suck them as he gets fucked by two hard cocks in his arse. But Sherlock knows he needs to hang on, knows he needs to pay attention for John's sake.

Mycroft starts to push in, the wet tip of his penis slipping against the base of Sherlock's, thrusting in tiny insistent movements against the tight red ring of John's hot hole. It is so tight, but Mycroft is forcing it, insistently thrusting.

John's body is so full, his hole so tightly stretched, but Mycroft is used to getting what he wants and the first two inches slide impossibly inside and John gives a shout so loud that Sherlock's own cry is almost unheard.

John is sobbing and Sherlock can feel his body instinctively trying to pull away, but under his breath there is still the litany of _yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes_ and Sherlock's hands tighten on his hips, hold him in place and Mycroft starts to rock slowly upwards into him.

John is so full. The stretch is unreal. The four and a half inches are nothing, not enough, will probably never be enough again. John knows that he will want this again, will keep wanting this, always. His body is rebelling against the intrusion, an instinctive reaction, but all John wants is for Mycroft to hurry up, to fill him up completely. He feels like he is being torn into two as inch by careful inch Mycroft pushes deeper and deeper into him.

Sherlock's hands on his hips are an anchoring force but even Sherlock is almost lost now, his head thrown back against the pillow and his mouth and eyes wide open. He is thrusting too, entirely involuntarily, his hips stuttering out of his control. Even before Mycroft is all the way in John is feeling the force of being fucked by two cocks and he doesn't know if he can handle it, if he will ever get past this. And then suddenly he hears Mycroft give a moan and there is a final thrust and the last long inches of Mycroft's cock bury themselves in his overfull body.

For perhaps ten seconds no one moves. The three of them are frozen, flushed and panting, some obscene relief carved in stone. John and Sherlock are staring at each other, wide-eyed and wordless. Behind him, John can hear the small grunts that Mycroft makes as he tries to get his breathing under control.

He is so full.

Mycroft's body is hot and soft behind him, his cock, even hotter and incredibly hard, is deep inside John's body, an it's him that eventually moves first. His long hands find John's hips just above where Sherlock's are clutching. His fingers dig suddenly into the soft flesh and that is John's only warning before Mycroft starts to move.

The first thrust is slow and deliberate. Sherlock, feeling it, the solid length sliding along his own, the second cock pressed impossibly close to his and enveloped in the soaking heat of John Watson, takes his cue and as Mycroft pushes with a grunt back into John, Sherlock pulls out.

The noise that John makes is soft and deep and guttural. Sherlock can feel him settling into it, and after several alternating thrusts, his eyes carefully on John's face, Sherlock pauses, and when he feels Mycroft pull out once more, Sherlock does the same.

Mycroft doesn't pause, doesn't question this, but John makes a noise, questioning, uncertain. Mycroft and Sherlock, their cocks hard and hot and thick, stop right at the opening of John's hole and for a moment no one moves again. Then on a breath, at once, both Sherlock and Mycroft shove hard back inside.

The sound that John makes in inhuman, a long low wail. They are fucking him, their two cocks lined up against each other. He is being forced open, pulled apart. Any second he's going to fall into pieces while Sherlock and Mycroft pound into him, their hips thrusting unceasingly as he keens at the feel of them, filling him and emptying him and filling him again. It's too much, far too much. He will always feel them there, he will always have these two cocks fucking him like this. He can feel them imprinted against his insides, stretching him past bearing, leaving their mark and dragging apart the raw ring of his hole and filling him far too full.

And just when he thinks that this will last forever, that this is how he dies, being pushed apart by Sherlock and Mycroft, cradled by their hands clutching him and keeping him still, he hears the break in Mycroft's moans against his ear and suddenly he is being filled by something else.

Mycroft is coming in him, his cock finally still as he gives a final thrust deep into John's arse and stays there, his hips shuddering without control, and John feels the heat of his come, the wetness of it. And Sherlock, still fucking John, feels it too as it spills deep inside and covers his own cock, making it even easier for him to thrust deeper and deeper with every single stroke. Mycroft's come spills out of John around him. Sherlock feels it sliding down his cock and over his thighs and the slap of his skin against John's is wet now. And when Mycroft pulls out with a grunt, falling backwards away from John's body, the last of his come spills out of John's wide and suddenly gaping hole. The feel of it, covering Sherlock's thighs, sliding between the crease of John's arse, is too much. Sherlock comes with a shout, pushing deep into john, spilling his own semen to mix with Mycroft's.

John is sobbing, the fullness, the sudden emptiness, the come hot and wet, filling him, and he wishes it were more. He wishes it could fill him up and he could plug it deep inside so he could always feel it there, sloshing around and leaving him marked for the next time.

Sherlock knows this, he sees the look on John's face. He also knows it's too much now though. He sees the loss on John's face and knows they need to finish this game.

He pulls out and in a single fluid movement pushes John onto the bed. Sherlock puts him on his belly and without pause lowers his mouth to John's wide, raw hole. The skin is burning, his entire arse white with come. Sherlock pushes his tongue into John, lapping at him, fucking him with his tongue, then reaches a hand around John's pulsing hips to take his hard hot cock in his hand.

It barely takes a touch before John is screaming, coming so hard he is shoving his arse back into Sherlock's face. Sherlock keeps licking him, soothing the edges of his hot hole with the soft wetness of his tongue, cleaning him completely while John sobs and writhes himself into exhaustion. Only when he finally lays still, his muscles twitching involuntarily, does Sherlock pull away.

He's almost forgotten about Mycroft but it doesn't matter because Mycroft is already gone. Sherlock doesn't care. It's not important. John is nearly comatose and Sherlock wishes he could leave him like that, let him rest. He is exhausted, the last three days finally taking their toll. But if Sherlock leaves him he'll be stiff and in pain tomorrow morning. So he runs the bath, not quite filling the tub with hot soapy water, and when it's done he goes to get John, helping him to stand, moving his legs over the edge of the tub and helping him to slide down, sinking loosely into the warmth.

When he's safely laying down, the water steaming around his body, Sherlock reaches for the soap.

But pauses.

John is moving, his legs coming up, his thighs parting. He cocks his hips up till he is almost bent doubled and Sherlock can only stare as John looks at him, eyes wide and intent.

 _Clean me,_ John says. _All of me please._

Sherlock stares at him, unsure if he should do this, but the enema hose is right there. It would be so easy.

So Sherlock does. Filling John to the brim and plugging him, letting it stay there while he cleans the rest of him thoroughly. Only when John is finished does Sherlock take out the plug and John moans as the water runs out of him, his stomach slowly going back to normal. Sherlock massages it gently, pushing into his abdomen until John is empty once again.

Only then does John consent to go, letting Sherlock help him out of the tub and allowing himself to be dried carefully. He starts to shiver and Sherlock wraps him in his own dressing gown, pleased to see John even more marked as his own. He takes him to bed, wrapping him in the blankets before getting in himself, and John, with a deep sigh, burrows into his neck.

 _Perfect,_ John says.

 _Yes you are,_ Sherlock agrees with a smile, but John's already asleep.


End file.
